God Damned Booty-Shaking Young People Drive Me Around the Bend!

The problem with young people today is that they don’t know how to dance.

Back when I was a youngster, dancing was damned serious business. We were expected to learn proper dances like the foxtrot, the waltz and the lindy hop. Complicated dances that required scholarly study, precise execution and a predetermined sequence of steps.

My generation learned from the Arthur Murray school of dance and when you saw us on the dance floor we all looked alike, dressed alike and moved in the exact same way. Just as God intended it.

But these young people today, they don’t dance. They get all hopped up on ecstasy and hormones and flail around like someone’s set their asses aflame. It’s manic and moronic – they dance like god damned mental patients chasing imaginary butterflies. It’s interpretive anarchy, I tell you, and it leads to all manner of social ills, reckless behaviours and venereal diseases.

And when it’s not just a free-for-all of herky-jerky arms and legs, their dancing becomes a dirty hodgepodge of pelvic thrusting, groin mauling and simulated sex acts. It’s “pornography” not “choreography” and I blame “the bump” for starting it all.

If I had ever “shaken my booty” at my old mom, she would have two-stepped my backside into the root cellar and busted my moves with a meat tenderizer.

I don’t understand it. For some reason, young people seem to feel that dance should be about expressing themselves and having “fun.” Ridiculous! Young people need to understand that dancing is social obligation like visiting in-laws, talking to your neighbours and attending Christmas parties – it’s meant to be endured not enjoyed.

The sooner these young people cut out all this willy-nilly arm flapping, finger snapping and dry humping and get back to doing a sensible hokey-cokey, the sooner we can pull this country out of its moral limbo and jitterbug on down the road to common decency.

They don’t know how to dance. That’s the problem with young people today.

Dear Mister Mills,
Sadly yes, many people dance like Jackrabbits hipped up on cocaine, I’ve seen it and I shake my head.

I have taken classes in Waltzing and swing dancing, along with polka, that’s pretty good for old school dances, though I know a bit of Irish jigs, though you may consider that as bad ass booty shaking, what with all the leg it shows.

The dances you were referring to, at least the overly sexual one s called grinding, it involved one sort of humping, or grinding one’s dance partner, not something I want to see in public.

I do how ever have a fondness for disco dancing and techno/rave music and dancing, though the most I’ve done is gotten drunk and danced, but that’s a time honored tradition going back hundreds of years, at least in Ireland J

Swing dancing is tons of fun. And rave/techno dancing, particularly the kind involving glow sticks doe have a kind of structure to it, and when you can get someone good to do it it’s quite cool Kinda like watching a human light show.

Grinding and other such shenanigans belong in the bedroom, please and thank you. I don’t’ even like to see serious snogging when I go out.

Hi Don! This is your first post that I tend to disagree with. I love ballroom dancing. My parents taught it, and I just love all the latin dances, but I grew up to disco and single dancing and they are quite enjoyable as well. True, it doesn’t take lessons to single dance, but it’s fun!! Shakin’ that booty is a great way to express your own personal sense of rhythm! Try it sometime, you might be surprised!

Honestly though, Yorksnbeans, I think it is just as easy to “express your own personal sense of rhythm” with a polite toe tapping or gentle hand clap. In my opinion it doesn’t require the ferocious shaking of your backside.

And as for “trying it” – trust me, if there is one thing you don’t want to see it is Don Mills shaking his booty.

As partial as I was to shakin what the Good Lord gave me, bear in mind that was back in the early 80s, when twenty somethings didn’t go out dressing like hoochie mamas wanting to turn a trick with every Jim, Joe and John who winked at them while hoisting a bottle of cheap beer and taking a slow drag from a fatty. Back in those days, the only thing too big was the hair, not the amount of exposed flesh that is out there every Friday through Sunday night.

But, I’m older now — and prefer a nice, early bedtime to a three o’clock closing call.

Ahhh, the benefits of aging and wisdom. Can’t beat that with a blunt object.

You’re wise beyond your years, I expect. A sensible bed time is the key to long life and happiness. Personally, I’m rarely up after 9 p.m. (except to watch the occasional Jimmy Steward movie marathon).

And I suppose you can be forgiven for your indiscretions during the 1980s. A damned sorry decade from my perspective. All it brought us was Pac Man, Cabbage Patch Kids and the New Coke.

Maybe the downfall of medern society can be directly attributed to the day the “meat tenderizer” was outlawed as a method of discipline. My house seemed to be in some kind of “time warp” and the cheese grater was used for the extraction of information and the corner attachment of the Kirby vacuum was used for “positive reinforcement.”

And…maybe you have a point…I dance WITHOUT my pelvis invading anyone’s personal space. As guys we should be able to rub our man parts on anyone with the fear of a restraining order…or a vacuum cleaner attachment.

I have two left feet, and so cannot dance in any classical idiom; the happiest day of my life was when a broken arm got me out of beginning ballet, Gesumaria.

However, I do occasionally drag a man out on the dance floor, if only for the sake of a moral triumph, considering that most of them are clumsier than I am and get a satisfying hunted-animal look when I have spun them around a few times and bent them over backward, Valentino-style. Perhaps I could work on putting the fear of God into some of the young this way.

I do apologize in advance to those of you with short attention spans, for this rather long – winded comment.

Recently I received an invitation to my young friend, Maud’s 60th Birthday Celebration and I accepted it with some trepidation because, just quietly, she is a bit of an Old Hippie and I wasn’t sure if I would enjoy myself with all her old hippie mates from University.

Still, I thought it would give me a chance to wear a new outfit I hadn’t worn since last century and truth be told, I don’t mind kicking my heels up once in a blue moon. Coincidently, the invitation called it a “Blue Moon Party” and instructions on how to get there were to be found on somebody’s MyFace page closer to the date.

All very mysterious, but nothing unusual for Maud who is off with the fairies anyway and I strongly suspect she regularly self -medicates with illegal substances.

After getting the directions I drove for three hours through dense rainforest, up a very steep mountain, indeed by the light of the aforementioned blue moon.

By midnight about 800 people had arrived, all in fluoroescent fancy dress, waving those glow worm thingymajigs including several disc jockeys who were by then playing extremely loud thumping music which combined with all the flashing coloured lights, was giving me a shocking migraine.

At this point, I happened upon one of her sons and at mentioning I had a splitting headache, he very kindly gave me 2 pills to take.

Well, I’m not exactly sure what happened next, but my headache dissipated and suddenly the music sounded not too bad at all so I took to the dance floor and 6 hours later I was still dancing and catching imaginary butterflies (or something).

Everyone seemed very ecstatic and friendly and happy and smiling and hugging each other and everyone looked amazingly colourful and beautiful.

When I left Maud’s party two days later I couldn’t help thinking how much I had enjoyed myself but I wished I’d asked Maud’s son for the name of those pills.

Ah, for the days of the minuet and the galop. I really cannot condone any form of dance that involves touching more than the tips of the fingers. The downfall of man began with the waltz, which led to involuntary emissions, soiling of petticoats, wilted wigs, and all manner of egregious excitements.

The end has come: even Lily Fossil is getting “hep” with the younger folk!

I have 2 left feet and 10 big toes. I think head banging is a good dance to exercise your brains.

I took a ballroom dancing class, once, LOL. I remember the 2-step. It had 2 steps. I do not get how people square dance. All these people in dorky costumes must dance precisely to the orders of an old curmudgeon who barks out indecipherable orders. Do you call square dances, Don?

Let me explain. I did dance the night away apparently, but the last thing I remember was trying to find my car at sunrise, but unfortunately I accidently fell over a cliff down into a rain-forested ravine and I wasn’t found till 2 days later. Hence the broken hip.

Past Sunday I was out on this street fair in my city and there was a group of women doing the belly dance. That was the first time I’d seen people doing this dance. I was amazed! It is really beautiful.

Don, last time I went out dancing there was a band playing live. They played all sorts of rhythms like pop rock, bolero, reggae, samba, disco and more. The fun thing was that, except for samba, the crowd danced the same way for the different styles. I don’t know if that was a result of the booze or ignorance. I believe in option 2. Maybe 1 and 2.

Now, the thing I really miss about dancing was the cheek to cheek dancing. I remember some 25 years ago while I was still a teen as we danced close to the girls at the sound of romantic ballads by Michael Fruity Jackson, The Commodores, Donna Summer, Roberto Carlos, Tim Maia and many others. Nothing like sniffing the smell of a chick’s neck or even stealing a kiss. Good old dancing times!

Yesterday –
Heaven, I’m in Heaven,
And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak;
And I seem to find the happiness I seek
When we’re out together dancing, cheek to cheek.

Today –
Sh-Sh-She lick me
Like a lollipop
Sh-Sh-She lick me
Like a lollipop
Sh-Sh-She lick me
Like a lollipop
Sh-Sh-She lick me
Like a lollipop

A very fine comment. And I believe you are right. Seems to me that young people today only know two different dances – the anarchistic free for all of jumping around like a moron and the rubbing of their privates parts on each other. And, to be honest, I consider the first to be a form of idiocy and the second a form of perversion.

And the music doesn’t help. As you point out, the songs these kids dance to today do nothing but encourage that kind of ridiculous behavior. Lick me like a lollipop? Good Christ almighty…

I have a question, Don…have you been reading my diary? I mean it’s the only explanation I can think of for how you seem to read my mind. In fact, I even quote the words “venereal disease” in my entries more times than you can shake a ten-foot pole at!

Anyway, like I always say about everything you write, this issue is a world-wide problem. Let me explain.

A couple of years ago, my friends and I went to Belize for New Years. Unbeknownst to us at the time, Belizeans have a style of dance they call “The Punta”. (They also have a drink called “The Panty-Ripper”, and although I can tell you firsthand it does work, I do realize that’s another story).

The first night we went to a bar that was full of young kids, but I figured it didn’t matter since all I wanted to do was show off my dance moves (FYI, I do a killer double-jointed robot).

Anyway, I was on the floor and just as I was about to unleash the bent elbow, suddenly I feel a guy grab me from behind. Before I could turn around, he started slamming into my backside so hard I thought people were going to tell us to get a room.

All I could do the whole time was stand there as he prodded me, imagining the conversation I would have with my future child—“Well, Danny, the bad news is that your father was just a random kid from the bar. But the good news is that even though I didn’t get a look at his face, I can tell by the way you gyrate your hips when you walk that you’re growing up just like him!”

Thankfully it didn’t result in that, however it just proves that this is a serious issue, Don. And you are just the right man to take on the challenge.

First off, I’d like to put your mind to rest about your diary. I most certainly have not read it. And, while I am sure it’s a damned good read, unless it was available as a “dairy of tape” or in “large print” I likely wouldn’t be able to decipher much anyway.

You’re quite the world traveller there, Bschooled. I do hope you are taking appropriate precautions on these trips – carrying travellers cheques (Karl Malden was a firm advocate and I trusted that man), getting all of your vaccinations and avoiding eye contact with the locals. The world’s a dangerous place – at least according to CNN.

Your story is a perfect example – a cautionary tale if you will – on the dangers of the damned lacivious dancing. And it proves my point that robots are evil. They shouldn’t be building our cars and they sure as hell have no place on the dance floor. They belong in Science Fiction movies and trashy novels.

Anyway, I’m glad you were able to escape relatively unscathed. Perhaps you should consider a nice place like Dayton for your next trip.

I insisted that my son learn how to dance a girl across a room. He wasn’t thrilled, but I assured him that it was a social skill that would put him way ahead of the wanna-be alpha males, and that any man that could summon the confidence to lead a woman around a room and make her look and feel beautifully graceful could be President one day.

He was soon learning the more amazing steps to swing dancing and never lacked for girls standing in line to be with him.

It was a unmatched pleasure, upon the occasion of his wedding, to dance with him to the strains of Glenn Miller’s “String of Pearls.” None of that stupid and icky shuffling about to some sappy song.

I do agree with the meat and potatoes of your essay; all this newfangled rear shaking and private parts rubbing is god damned pornographic. These youngsters would do well to remember that it wasn’t long ago that it was illegal to dance at all.

That being said though, I have to admit something. April the 23rd of this past year I attended a wedding of one of my wife’s God damned relations (I honestly think the boy is deaf and dumb), and they all got to carrying on and dancing and whatnot. Anyway, I have to admit that watching them move around like that, I felt my nether digit shift a little bit. First time in four years. So I have mixed feelings about it now, I suppose.

Interesting confession. And while I am not familiar with the term “nether digit” I believe I understand the issue. Damned embarrassing I would imagine.

I tend to avoid weddings altogether. Not out of fear of shifting digits but because I’m sick of seeing tattoos poking out from under wedding dresses. They also attend to attract large numbers of randy young people.

I tend to go to more funerals than weddings these days. They are generally more restrained, solemn and serious-minded. Plus, there are often egg-salad sandwiches with the crust cut off afterward. Aggie used to make those for me all the time.

And, in general, you don’t have to worry about shifting nether digits at a funeral.

Besides all that, there is something incredibly sensuous and romantic about taking a woman into your arms (or being taken) and floating around a dance floor moving in unison to music. Having been one of those booty shaking young things during my mis-spent youth, I can testify that the people at Arthur Murray were on to something about how to get juices flowing in a deep and subtle way that is completely lost on all those kids that are out there flailing around wildly.

I am middle of the road here…i know a dangerous place with you. On the one hand you are right that the younger folks seem to have no rythmn for the music and its about the booty shaking…the old days with the holding hands and slow dances their was more romance and genuine friendship with you first dance..on the other hand…I am not ready to pack up the kids in the family desoto and go watch Duke Ellington..and I have no understanding of the Lindy or the Huckabuck…so maybe there is something for me to learn and you might learn something from the younger crowd about self expresssion….and by the way I have done something that your generation ( minus war vets) would not be proud of ….go to my blog and see please…Zman sends

I will head over to your blog shortly to see what kind of affront to seniors you’ve committed. You’ve certainly caught my interest.

And I have to say, the middle of the road is not a place I ever expected to find you, Zman. You generally strike me as a man of strong opinion. And I’m even more surprised to learn that you have a Desoto! A damned good choice. Could have sworn you said something about having a convertible with a gun in the glove box earlier.

Anyway, I think you should consider the Lindy, Zman. You might like it. As for me – I don’t think I’ll be doing any “grinding” soon. Could be damned lethal for an old sod like me.

The latest thing among the teenaged set (and I know because I own one) is ‘grinding”. That’s all the rage at high school dances. The guy gets behind the girl and grinds his pubescent organs into the girls boney derriere whilst placing his hands loosely on her hips. Everyone is dressed the same and looks the same and is doing the same moves.

As far as I see it: booty is the spoils of some criminally inspired activity, such as piracy.

Where are these young rapscallions getting hold of booty to shake?

Their parents should be called to account!

When I was a lad the only thing that we were expected to shake on a dance floor was our ‘groove thang’; whatever the hell one of those was. I’m prety damn sure that I never had one, and I’m equally sure that if I had, then a good dose of penicillin would have sorted it out.

I agree. If damned young people want to shake some booty we should herd them all aboard a single-masted sloop and send them out to sea. Then they can wear eye patches, flouncy shirts and shake all the damned booty they want.

And, sorry but I can’t help you with your “groove thang.” Sounds like a carpenters tool to me but I doubt that’s right. Shaking one of those on the dance floor could put an eye out.

Good God, V@le, that was disturbing. And not a particularly nice way to kick off my day.

I only managed about 2 minutes before I started to have chest pains. By minute three I damned near passed out, shut it down and had to have a small glass of Brandy just to put the color back in my cheeks. Given the way things were progressing on that tape, I suspect that the full 10 minutes would have driven me to an early grave.

It’s not just how they dance, it’s when. In my day, you only danced at weddings, or at the Harvest Ball down at the Grange on the last Saturday of September. You damned sure didn’t touch each other, except for one dry hand at your partner’s waist and the other at her hand, and you sure as hell maintained a decent interval between your torso and hers. Grinding and humping? Not while my old mother was alive — if you wanted to grind, she’d send you down to the mill with a few hundredweight of corn to make into meal, and it had better come back fine! But these young people, any kind of music seems to send them into a Dionysiac frenzy of orgiastic excess and indecency. It’s no wonder the world is going to hell in a handbasket!

“Grinding and humping? Not while my old mother was alive — if you wanted to grind, she’d send you down to the mill with a few hundredweight of corn to make into meal, and it had better come back fine!”

If I ever do where a damned t-shirt that’s what you’re going to read on the front of it.

Sorry for the late reply, Don, but I agree with this post as well. I personally don’t do any kind of dancing, especially “grinding,” which is more than likely what you’re referring to in this post. I don’t find it appropriate. Not much else to add.

Hello Mr. Mills. Another great article as usual. The music itself is kind of retarded today, leave alone the dance that. And another thing is that, it is like the singers today can’t think of proper or sensible lyrics. It is very hard to find good music today. And one more thing, I wanted to say this to you since long…will say it anyway today. You remind me somewhat of Clint Eastwood’s character in the movie ‘Gran Torino’. Lol. You should see that movie, if you haven’t yet! I think you will like it sir.

I completely agree on the subject of dancing. Dancing today is completely centered around sex and has no purpose otherwise. I have more self respect than to dance like that.

I am a fan of ballet, a dance that requires so much skill that people who truly know how to do it have spent their lives studying it and practicing daily, unlike “booty-shaking” and grinding and gyrating. It is truly disciplined in comparison. My only regrets are that my feet, ankles and knees were more flexible and stronger, so I could continue to learn ballet without injuring myself.

That’s a bit much: Our world would be ridiculously boring and meaningless if we all looked like robots on the dance floor. Who wants to do that? Dancing should definitely be fun and entertaining to watch, not slow and painful looking. I would definitely hate to live in a time where it was robotic as you described. I agree grinding is a bit much, but if I was forced to foxtrot and such my entire life at parties, I might as well jump off a cliff because I love dancing. By the way, I’m 14.

Lindyhopper here (15 years); started when I was 25. Can’t agree more with this post. Partner dancing is a skill that changed my life. Teaches you more than how to look like a pro on a wedding reception dance floor – taught me many facets of partnership, social graces, how to be part of a multi-generational community, and how to move with elegance and class on the floor and off. One of the most powerful things I have done; and will continue to be a skill I can do well into my elder years. The complexity of this skill is highly under-rated and yet, it is one of the most powerful things I am doing to keep my mind sharp, my body strong and my soul vibrant and joyful.